


Suffer Me

by DigitalWerewolf



Category: The Dead Zone
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalWerewolf/pseuds/DigitalWerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sarah's death, Walt has been excluding Johnny from his life. Johnny refuses to accept this, pursuing Walt with mixed intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffer Me

The funeral was a six o’clock.

 

Johnny Smith had fought back tears ever since the night they told him: Sarah was dead. Killed in a freak car accident on the high street a month ago. His first thoughts were of J.J., his son, holding another man’s hand in the rain. The two of them stood there.

 

Walt Bannerman looked fiercely stern, and his eyes were dark.

 

It scared Johnny; the way the Sherriff had hardly said a word to him in the days following Sarah’s death. They both loved her. They both mourned, yet they could not console. Walt was avoiding him, for some unknown and hurtful reason, apparently with intent to stay as far away from him as possible.

 

The funeral was short, and the party moved outside to say goodbye.

 

_Christ, the body was still warm…_

 

As the coffin was lowered, Johnny stared grimly over the hole in the ground at the man he called his friend, with his son, J.J. and bit back hurling insults his direction. Everyone was there, but he was about as far from the masses as possible, with the fellow mourners surrounding one side of the coffin, and he, the other, under a tree hiding from the rain. The priest was a man he’d never seen before but at this point, he couldn’t complain. His eyes stung as bad as his heart. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to shout and scream and bawl his eyes out, but not here, not now.

 

The reasons why he was specifically excluded from the rites were known to him.

 

Walt was insane to think that just because Sarah was gone, Johnny would exert his paternal rights over the kid and try to take him from him. The thought crossed his mind, but he could never be that vindictive. Besides, all he wanted was to be there… for his son, and his son’s father.

 

_Damn him._

 

The icy rain hid his hot tears. It was freeing as the body was lowered, but he still didn’t want to see her go. A part of him wanted to think this was just another wicked vision from that dark side of his brain that they called _The Dead Zone_. In all his darkest dreams and vivid prophecies, he never would have imagined this…

 

After the funeral, he tried to approach Walt and J.J., lurking like a phantom, pale among the crowds, but his heart hung too heavy in his chest it weighed him down like an anchor; dragging his feet in the mud until he ground to a complete stop. He could only watch as the ones he loved were huddled together in to a black car without him. Stranded and alone, a ghost in a cemetery, Johnny had stood there crying for over an hour.

 

The next day…

 

The next day was… well… weird.

 

First, Johnny had no recollection of how or when he got home, but he woke up soaking wet, fully dressed on his bed. He could smell the alcohol puke on his shirt and rushed to the bathroom to produce more.

 

Second, he found that he had received numerous missed calls, three from Bruce. One from a number he had dialed more times than he could count the last few days to no avail: Walt’s.

 

Selfishly, he wanted to ignore it, but he couldn’t, the better part of his soul wouldn’t allow it. Shaky thumbs punched in the numbers, failed; he breathed, tried again.

 

No surprise, _no answer_.

 

“Why the hell do you call me and not pick up, Walt?” Johnny sighed and shook his head; he really couldn’t deal with the much longer.

 

Reminded of Sarah again, Johnny cried a low, sorrowful groan and slapped his forehead with his palm to keep the pain from getting too much. Quickly, he went about busying himself, showering, changing, and generally just trying hard to keep from becoming a total wreck. At times like these, his house became even more lonely, unbearably so.

 

Just before he had chance to decide on the day’s activities (or lack of), a brief jolt of shock ran through him, a sudden, unexplainable need to check the mail. As most things involving John Smith were either inexplicable or unexplainable, he thought nothing of it, and immediately went to retrieve the mail.

 

“Shit,” he spat, looking at the mass of letters.

 

Intentionally, he’d been ignoring them. Somehow now, none of them seemed all that important. Leafing through various pointless letters, Johnny was sat cross-legged on the floor when another one came through and landed on the pile to almost break his heart again.

 

The moment he touched this new, official-looking envelope, a dark dread filled him:

 

_Broken. Broken glass; he could feel his heart racing with a mix of emotions._

_“Look, John… don’t get crazy,” warned Walt._

_Absolutely, he was. “Don’t get—”_

_Johnny had to turn away before he hit him._

It was just a brief vision, but it was one that caused a thick lump to settle in his throat. He probably knew something like this would happen eventually; a breakdown—a clash. Nothing would be the same now that there was no Sarah to act as intermediary. Without her, they would be enemies, he knew that, but didn’t want to believe it.

 

Even shakier fingers opened the letter. His breath was coming out so ragged that he was afraid he’d give himself a heart attack.

 

It was from a lawyer (of course—he didn’t need to be psychic to see this one coming):

 

 

_Mr. Smith,_

_It is with deep regret that we inform you, on behalf of our client Walter Bannerman, that as now sole legal guardian of one J.J. Bannerman, Mr. Bannerman intends to exert his parental rights. As this is not a court-appointed order, Mr. Bannerman hopes that an agreement many be reached amicably, through us as mediators, and that you will maintain a reasonable distance from him, his child, and his home and place of work, and not try to communicate with the family in any way. We understand that grief is a difficult process, which is why it was requested that no court become involved in the proceedings. However, we are instructed, if this warning goes unheeded, to begin legal action against you._

“Okay…” Johnny tried his best to breathe, but he was close to hyperventilation.

 

Did Walt’s paranoia know no bounds? Okay. He _understood_ that Walt was hurting, and that he was afraid. He didn’t want to lose J.J. But he was insulted, and damn pissed off that Walt would—could—think that he could ever…

 

Shaking his head, Johnny remained calm and pocketed the letter before he did something he might regret. Tensions were high all around. Of course Walt was acting irrationally. Contacting lawyers… a fucking restraining order? Seriously? Like he thought that’d stop him? He clearly didn’t know John Smith.

 

Clearly.

 

Or maybe John didn’t know Walt. That thought stuck. It stung. All he ever wanted was to be there for them, and fill that void they all needed filling. He wanted to help raise J.J. He couldn’t imagine living a life broken, away from them—his family. Maybe Walt didn’t think of him like that. But how could he not? After all the shit they’d been through, all the times they’d saved each other’s lives, and for what? Relationships reduced to paperwork. It hurt him deeply to think that all Walt thought of him that he was just a nuisance who needed to buzz off now that he had no reason to hang around.

 

Well, of course John wasn’t going to just take it.

 

 

Twelve-thirty.

 

_Was J.J. at school? Good._

 

Walt had spoken with Johnny once since the death regarding J.J. and they both agreed that normality needed to be maintained, especially for the boy. It was vital that J.J. could fall back on the things he relied on, and have both of them to lean on during this difficult time. Continuing school was not only good for him, but for Walt. This way, he could grieve in private and not scare the kid, who needed his father to be strong around him, to be that warm hug and solid arm to comfort him.

 

Johnny wondered, while driving the journey to Walt’s house (that used to be Sarah’s) what the point was in all of that. Why bother coming to an agreement when he was so torn up inside? Obviously, Walt was as broken as he was, and no doubt he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was the all-together guy, all the time. He needed someone around him to tell him that it was okay to cry sometimes, and he needed someone there to comfort him while he was comforting his son. How the hell was he expected to provide emotional support to anyone when he had so many responsibilities? Well, John wanted to take that away from him. He wanted to give him reprieve, for himself as well as for Walt. He was slowly going crazy locked up in that house all day. He missed Walt and J.J. like crazy.

 

Now that Sarah was gone, they were all he had left to fight for, and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

 

The house looked so empty when he pulled up outside…

 

“Should’ve called,” he grumbled, having second thoughts.

 

Before he could dissuade himself otherwise, he was out of the car and charging up to the front door as fast as his crippled legs could take him, which, was pretty fast considering.

 

Bang, bang, bang… nothing.

 

Eventually the pounding on the front door became less furious, and more worried. What if something happened to him? Again, his pounding returned, complete with him calling Walt’s name. This went on for a further two minutes before he attracted the attention of the neighbors.

 

It was then that he saw: Walt’s car wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.

 

Sighing, Johnny felt like fucking breaking. He whined and fell back against the door, and let himself slide down to a sit with his back to it and one knee to his chest. It was scary not finding someone he cared about where they were supposed to be so soon after Sarah…

 

Closing his eyes, he was afraid; afraid of visions, afraid of the quiet just as much, he was simply alone and fucking miserable. Luckily, the neighbors left him alone when they saw what a state he was in.

 

Eventually, it started to get dark, and he was damn tired of crying.

 

At around the same time, headlights came in to view from one end of the street. He already knew it was Walt approaching, coming in from a ridiculously long day at work that he had no business even starting. Johnny went and stood on the sidewalk in front of the house, and did his best to portray his weariness and the fact that he did not want a fight.

 

Walt stopped the car calmly enough, but didn’t leave, or even turn his head to look out at the man he’d been doing a damn good job at avoiding up until now. Both hands were still on the wheel and Walt’s jaw was tense. He looked to be caught between mild irritation and complete surrender.

 

Well, John wasn’t waiting for Walt; he tore open the car door and shoved himself inside and closed the door behind him, shutting them both in together. Locked car. No way out. No lawyers or cowardly letters.

 

Unfortunately, there was no more conversation going on than when they were apart. Walt still had that tense look on his face, where even blinking looked to be a struggle, and Johnny grew conscious of his staring, looked to the dead dashboard instead. It was inevitably less dangerous.

 

“John…”

 

“No, let me talk,” said Johnny, abruptly. “I can’t believe—”

 

“Johnny, don’t bother… I already regret sending that letter.”

 

Johnny was stopped at that, puzzled, but hopeful. It was like a suckerpunch, but one he could deal with. His lip quivered with a question that never came. Anger, however, was not so easily sated. He was… pissed off. Nothing gave Walt the right to exclude him from J.J.’s life, or even think that it was okay. To even consider was a betrayal, and it was a cut that equaled the still-fresh wound of Sarah’s death. Balling up his fist, Johnny reacted, and broke the window next to him with such a force even he wasn’t sure it happened.

 

Finally, Walt was at least looking at him. _Bastard_. He almost looked surprised.

 

“Then why?” he said, shaking from head to toe; every muscle clenched; eyes tearful and burning. “Nothing—nothing excuses something so… so…”

 

“Look, John,” said Walt, firmly, like he was speaking to a child who just threw a tantrum on a trip. “Don’t get crazy…”

 

“Don’t get—“ Jonny turned away in a huff; he couldn’t believe Walt just said that.

 

Things seemed to cool at that. A silence washed over them like the aftershock of a thunderstorm; it seemed to level out now that the emotions were tempered, and when Johnny finally looked over at Walt, he was both shocked and warmed to find him looking back. The event only lasted a second though before Walt looked down again.

 

“I don’t wanna lose anyone else, John,” he said, barely audible in his sorrow.

 

“Then why push?” He said, with a measured dose of venom.

 

“I don’t know, I just…”

 

Johnny softened. He just couldn’t be mad at him. Walt had lost his wife. A few weeks ago, and here he was, complaining, breaking windows, just because he was mad. He should have had more sense than to accost him like this. He should have been patient, dealt with the lawyers and jumped through hoops. That would have proved that he was willing to deal and not freak out. Like an adult, like a secure, sand person that he needed to be right now.

 

“I’m sorry,” Walt said, looking again at him, this time with his eyes noticeably glassy, even in the darkening car. “I’m so… in a bad place right now. J.J. is with his grandparent’s… thought they’d give me some time to myself.”

 

“And you use it going to work,” scoffed Johnny. His hand stung and was bleeding against the other. He clenched it hard so not to draw attention to his embarrassing outburst.

 

Walt nodded. “It’s the only way I can stop thinking about Sarah… for a while at least.”

 

Johnny couldn’t believe that was true. Walt didn’t want to stop thinking about Sarah, and neither did he for that matter. It was because of her that J.J. came in to existence, and one would be naïve to think that they could all just go on with life as if she was still around. Going to work was Walt’s way of going back to the life he used to have, even if it was a fractured mockery.

 

“That hand needs wrapping,” said Walt.

 

“Huh?” Johnny looked up; Walt was looking at him, and took his hands and pried them apart to inspect the cuts. Johnny remained quiet, and with no small guilt in his chest, enjoyed the human contact for the few seconds they lasted. “Oh, yeah… I guess you’re right.”

 

“Don’t worry: I called off the lawyers. Moment of weakness. I was stupid… stupid…”

 

“No arguments here,” Johnny said, trying to turn it light.

 

Again, silence, though more comfortable before, ironic considering that Johnny was bleeding.

 

“You wanna go in? I mean… it’s better than sitting out here.”

 

Johnny considered it: J.J. away, and just Walt for company. The idea was… strange. It never usually went like this. They hung out, sure, but never under these circumstances, in that mostly empty house, with the air of grief hanging over them like a toxic cloud, threatening to raid acid on their party. Despite his reservations, there really was only one answer.

 

“What about your window?”

 

“I’ll figure something out later—don’t worry.”

 

Nodding, Johnny followed Walt out of the car. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Walt had had something to drink; the way he staggered out of the car. He must have had a rougher day than he thought, and that only built up the guilt in Johnny. Here he was, bothering Walt when all he wanted was to be left alone. Oh, well… tough. There was no way Johnny was letting that happen. Not even Bruce could cheer him up when Walt, his son’s father was in such a state. Really, in the end, only they could possibly understand what each other was going through.

 

“So, you uh… gonna tell me why you’ve been shutting me out lately? I mean, I get it… sort of… but I’d still like an explanation, if you don’t mind?”

 

“No, that’s fair. I owe you one.”

 

The house… was indeed cold. Empty without Sarah and J.J. How could anyone live like this? Its only comparison was Johnny’s own home. The only difference was that this was smaller. He followed Walt inside with a sheepish politeness, only going as far as to take off his jacket and hanging it up.

 

Meanwhile, Walt had already shucked his jacket, opened his wrinkled police shirt and kicked away his shoes and was in the kitchen guzzling straight from a bottle of milk in the fridge. It was quite a sad scene, but Johnny could still recognize that trace of Walt left inside. He was there, just masked by this damned indifference. When Walt noticed that Johnny was still standing in the hallway, he raised a brown and leaned on the counter, staring at him questioningly. There was some milk dripping from his chin but he didn’t seem to care.

 

“You comin’ in, or are you just gonna camp out there?”

 

Johnny scoffed; Walt hadn’t seemed to have lost his authority but something was telling Johnny that he should just come back when it was light, and when things were less… weird, especially with Walt, as he was not normally so rough-edged and disheveled. Though Johnny had to admit, Walt looked better than he had any business being. A little scruff was fine. As long as he didn’t go full mountain man.

 

“Lemme get some antiseptic for that hand,” said Walt, in an exasperated tone.

 

He cleared his throat and went off in a somewhat hunched fashion, further reinforcing the theory that he’d paid a visit to a bar before heading home.

 

Johnny breathed for a moment before heading inside. It really did feel like a stranger’s home now that the dynamics had shifted so much. He felt like a kid hanging around a friend’s parent’s house when said friend wasn’t home. It was uncomfortable, to an almost unbearable level. Still, he found his way in to the kitchen at sat at the table. Having no choice but to expose his cut hand, he rolled up his long sleeve and laid his forearm across the edge of the table just as Walt was returning.

 

“You need to watch that temper,” he said, dumping a first-aid kit next to his hand.

 

“I know. Everyone always says that to me, Walt. What are you doing? It’s just a tiny cut, I can do that myself…”

 

“Shut up, unless you want me to pour salt on your hand,” he said, pulling out a chair and dragging it close up to his.

 

“Since I just broke your window… I’ll do as you ask,” said Johnny with a disquieted sigh through his nose.

 

This was weird enough; he didn’t need to make awkward smalltalk. Maybe he should just dive right in with the questions again, but, the moment his skin came in to contact with his, Johnny jumped, as if an electric shock ran through him; a surge of unbelievable and frankly disturbing images came to mind that brought an instantaneous physical rejoinder.

 

“Oh, hell…”

 

“John…” Concerned, Walt’s brows furrowed as he watched the man.

 

Dizzy from the experience, Johnny almost whined as the visions stopped assaulting his senses; regretful that he ever let Walt touch him and even more so when the man actually did stop touching him. _Jesus, just a little longer, Walt_ …

 

“John,” repeated Walt, firmly. His grip actually had moved above, to his upper arm and shook him roughly.

 

Still, Johnny was reeling. Through Walt’s touch, briefly, Johnny had seen the beautiful:

 

_Sarah and Walt… and J.J. and himself._

It was a goddamn picturesque scene that he’d have loved to come true. However, that was all over now. Sarah was dead. Even in his damaged brain not much could compare to Sarah.

 

When he came round, there were tears in his stinging eyes and he could barely cling to his dignity as he leaned helplessly forward to bury his shuddering sobs against the shoulder so close and convenient.

 

“Christ,” he moaned, sorrowfully.

 

Taken aback, Walt couldn’t help but startle and just sit there dumbly as another man cried against him. If not for his own poise, he might have joined in, instead, he just clasped a hand to the back of Johnny’s head and held him there for as long as he needed, which, thankfully, wasn’t very long. He offered minimal support, brushing fingers over the top of his ear while he settled.

 

“You okay, man?” He asked, brows furrowing as Johnny lifted his head.

 

Nodding, Johnny replied, “Yeah, I just… some stuff, I can’t explain.”

 

Breaking away rather bashfully from Walt, Johnny wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and allowed Walt to continue wrapping it. He went to work without another word, and his hands, although rough, surprisingly gentle, provided no more teasing apparitions thanks to self-control (he was now prepared) and it was even… nice; feeling someone touching him again, even if it was in such a trivial way. Maybe he was just desperate for contact. All he knew was that he wanted that touch to go on just a little longer.

 

“Then don’t bother; my head hurts enough as it is.”

 

All too soon, it was over; his hand was wrapped and Walt was getting up. Johnny almost reached for him to sit back down, but he wasn’t quite quick enough, a little mesmerized by the way Walt’s arm hair smoothed in one neat direction. Casually he wondered how that’s feel against his cheek. Real snug, he guessed, but hastily disbanded that line of thought when Walt returned with two beers, one for Johnny and one for himself.

 

“Again, I have no excuse,” said Walt, much to Johnny’s surprise.

 

“Excuse? Walt—I’m not—I never gave you even a damn hint that I wanted rights over J.J. What in hell was going through your mind when you thought that? Because I’ve thought about it, and you know what? No hints. I have no clue. All I ever wanted was for this… to keep going, so that _we_ —both of us—can be there for _our_ kid, and that we’d get through this, helping each other, so that none of us would ever disrespect Sarah by getting petty about things… she’d want us to work together, not fight, Walt, because honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight you. If you want me to sign away any rights that you think I have, then I’ll sign whatever piece of shit thing you want me to, but Walt… I really, really can’t go on with this… estrangement.”

 

Johnny was sweating, madly. He’d clipped his emotion best he could, but that little speech almost had him crying again, and he had to stop before he did.

 

“Well, neither can I,” said Walt, without much sentiment as he cracked open the bottles.

 

Johnny didn’t think either of them should be drinking in these pivotal moments that may decide how they lived from now on, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him no when he was being civil for once. Of course, he reminded himself that he was walking on think ice. After the outburst in the car, and the outburst just now, he was just grateful to not have a bloody nose at Walt’s fist, so he awkwardly pulled the open bottle towards himself and took a first sour gulp, just to show good faith.

 

 

 

An hour later, they had moved the tentative little party off to the living room and to the couch. It was so weird. The two of them sat next to each other, they might as well have been at opposite ends of the room, and the silence was so awkward. At least the television provided some background noise. Johnny got the feeling that this was what Walt did often when J.J. was away, sitting alone and unhappily drinking away the pain until it dissipated.

 

Walt was lounging back to the point that it looked the couch was swallowing him, but he didn’t look comfortable. His eyes were glazed and his mouth was hung half open. The beer in his hand was his third (he was really guzzling them down) and the other bottles remained starting a row on the table in front of him.

 

It took Johnny several moments to realize he was staring, but he couldn’t help it; this wasn’t the Walt he knew. He had every reason to be down, but it saddened him to see this wonderfully strong and fierce man go down this road of depression. Still, he hated that he was willing to push him out of his life.

 

“You… you didn’t have to do all that Walt. I don’t want… I would never—”

 

The silence had been broken. It was up to Walt to respond now, and he did so quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for it all this time, and had a response already picked out.

 

“I know… I know,” slurred Walt. Then again, quietly: “I know you wouldn’t, John.”

 

Johnny felt an odd sense of warmth at that; the way Walt’s voice whispered in a hoarse tone. It had a darkly purring quality about it, and it was… damn. Certainly no feathery-soft flutter, and that was peculiarly soothing, a spot of familiar that he would very much like to hold on to and keep him warm.

 

“But then, why? I’m confused…”

 

Walt turned and glanced at John. Even in the darkened room, he could see the puzzlement on his face that spelled his emotions and said, “I was scared. That’s all.”

 

“Scared,” repeated Johnny, bitterly. “Scared. Of me?”

 

Walt didn’t say anything; he just kept his eyes cast low, indicating his answer.

 

“Why in hell are you scared of me? I’ve never done anything—anything—to imply that I wanted to hurt you or Sarah. I mean, I’m not exactly the best guy in the world, but I’m at the point where I have to take what I can get, and you—you and J.J.—are all I’ve got in the world right now. Don’t you know that?”

 

It was pretty pathetic when he thought about it; clinging to a man who he felt nothing but vague jealousy first when they met, just because he was the ideal he had aspired for but could never achieve. John wanted a family, but he was long passed the opportunity to make his own.

 

“I didn’t say I was scared,” hissed Walt, turning to glare in his direction, but his movements were staggered thanks to the alcohol. “And… I just… I guess I flipped out. Sorry. I agree: cutting you out of J.J.’s life at this point would be… fucking tragic, and… pretty selfish of me.”

 

“And what about you?”

 

“What about me, John?”

 

“I mean: you must have missed me, just a little… you didn’t even get mad when I broke your window. I guess that’s why you tried calling me this morning, isn’t it? Because you wanted to warn me about that letter… you knew it was a mistake. That’s the important thing.”

 

“Oh, I’m still mad,” scoffed Walt, sitting up further on to his elbows. “I just haven’t thought up a good way to punish you yet.”

 

There it was. A smile. Johnny saw Walt’s and Walt saw Jonny’s. They were feeble efforts, but they were there, and undeniable to the point that both men had to disengage and look back to the television before the whole thing broke them.

 

It was a plus whatever it was; it was a turn in the right direction.

 

“But to answer your question: yes. I have missed you.”

 

 

The beer went straight to Johnny’s head, so after the second bottle, he politely declined Walt’s offer for more.

 

Walt, who had had more than double by comparison had become increasingly more relaxed by the conclusion of the night, to the point that Johnny was almost convinced he was over Sarah already if not for the odd lapses in to moody silence. It was in those furtive moments that Johnny found himself staring at Walt.

 

Staring, looking at the roughness of his exterior, and the way the lines on his face told the story of his rough existence. He was goddamned beautiful, in a way; a way Johnny neither liked to admit or acknowledge that inconvenient truth. But by god, he missed him. These weeks without the constant in his life that was Walt Bannerman was terrible. He’d never felt more alone, and now that he was here, in his living room, taking in the heady atmosphere and sitting so close to the man himself… well, he was in awe, and a very large part of him never wanted to give this up. Suddenly, the house didn’t seem quite so empty. All they needed was J.J., and despite the imperfections and inconveniences of their arrangement, he believed that they could make this work—conventionalisms be damned. Johnny’s urges to become a family transcended societies’ customs.

 

Walt had apparently fallen asleep some time after midnight, and so had Johnny—for a moment—but he couldn’t stay here tonight. It was simply too soon, and too much to push this on him while he was in such a state. No. Best to get Walt off to bed and head back to his place. Maybe he’d have a better chance of bringing himself to talk to him about this tomorrow when the alcohol worked its way out of his system.

 

Hesitant to touch him, Johnny simply lifted Walt’s legs up on to the couch and set his head on the pillow he brought in from the bedroom. Shit. It still smelled of Sarah. He couldn’t enjoy that smell anymore; the smell of Walt kept entering his nostrils, corrupting those memories, stirring something else in him: warmth mixed with sadness.

 

“What’re you doin’?” Slurred Walt as he woke to find himself being manhandled.

 

Johnny sighed, “making you more comfortable, so you don’t wake up with cramps to add to your problems.”

 

Walt seemed to protest, but his eyes didn’t have the energy to open and just… allowed it; allowed Johnny to pose him like a muscular, hairy doll. He was strong, but he was letting him move him around, baring his vulnerabilities… it was a strong sign that Walt trusted him, and that was good enough for him.

 

“You goin’ somewhere?” added Walt, when he was settled.

 

“Walt. It’s almost one in the morning. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I won’t get any… I’ve already been here way longer than I have any business being…”

 

As predicted, Walt uttered a grumble of disapproval, “you’re not going anywhere… dark… dark out.”

 

“I do better in the dark, you should know that by now.”

 

“Hm,” Walt shifted, no longer contented with this arrangement. “Regardless, I’d rather you stay here tonight… all that… ‘You’re all I’ve got in the world’ thing is not something I’m willing to let you go home alone with.”

 

Walt was sitting up again, but he was obviously strained, hands on his face, then running through his hair; he was very tired, and it killed Johnny to think that he was here bothering him when he really could have been asleep right now.

 

“Really? Well, it’s nice, but it’s okay,” insisted Johnny, but his resolve had already broken; he’d have killed to not be alone another damn night. He was making no effort to go get his coat; instead he just stood there in front of Walt.

 

“Yeah, yeah, why don’t you just shut up and help me to bed—you can thank me later.”

 

“Hey—go steady, will ya?” Johnny had to rush to Walt’s side to grab his arm, even though there was no call for it—Walt was fine, just a little groggy, he really didn’t need help getting up. Yet, Johnny was there, and somehow his hand had sneaked inside Walt’s open shirt, and for the most part it stayed while Walt was done swaying before going on to get a firmer hold of the shirt itself.

 

Walt’s feet were unsteady, leaving them colliding, but Johnny was strong enough to keep the man mostly upright, though the drunken lurch Walt had developed maintained an rocking waver so severe that he needed to take hold of Johnny’s arms just so that he wouldn’t give in to the urge and fall.

 

It was… weird, especially the way Walt stared at him.

 

Even in the dark room he could see the secret weakness there, the weakness he always did such a convincing job of hiding. Johnny saw it now; a needy, lonely man like himself, who’d lost a lot in the last few weeks and simply needed a friend nearby, to catch him when he fell, or hold him when he was in need of it. Johnny gave in; he pulled Walt roughly against him.

 

He smelled of sweat and alcohol, but by god it was better than smelling nothing, which he was getting sick of. He couldn’t get enough, forcibly shoving his face against the other man’s clavicle in a way that happily passed for the usual drunk guy helping a drunken guy walk. In fact, a sudden outpouring of emotion almost had Johnny falling himself, but Walt was remarkably mobile by then, powering his way over a fallen side table and onwards. Figuring Walt just wanted to get it over with and not be caught (even by his own admission) clinging to another guy, he wasn’t eager to waste time, he staggered along with him, himself oddly lightheaded.

 

“Enough hugging, bed,” growled Walt, blindly grasping and grabbing John by the arm.

 

As soon as his hand touched him, Johnny froze:

 

_A darkly lit bedroom; hot, so hot, wet…_

_Johnny could see Walt’s face, sweaty and panting for breath. He was making the most pained noises. Gripping the sheets, he was trapped under Walt’s weight._

_(Must be seeing through… oh, god, Sarah)_

_This wasn’t his and Sarah’s bed—it was his—and there was no fire in sight. Walt was on top—of him—and he knew what was happening, he could feel it, but there was no way this was happening…._

_Walt was strong, and that gave him comfort…_

“Come on, man—quit zoning out.”

 

Johnny did, but he couldn’t forget what he just saw, and worse; he didn’t _want_ to forget it. Walt was still here, and looking at him strangely, accusing him of ‘zoning out,’ and Johnny could only let out a nervous chuckle mixed with a held-in whimper, and step back. He wanted so badly to just stay and… wrap things up, but there was no way he could stay here now, not after that.

 

It made no goddamn sense, and he was scared—panicked.

 

Johnny couldn’t back out of that house fast enough, almost tripping over the corner of the couch on his way out. His face felt hot and his body shivered with a harsh confusion the likes, which he experienced on a daily basis but had managed to keep in check until now.

 

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to spend more time with Walt, because hell yes, he did, but this… along with other vulgar visions that he’d been suffering with the last few days, this proximity was dangerous.

 

“Well, where the hell are you going?” asked Walt.

 

But Johnny was already out of the door.

 

It took him a further three minutes of pacing up and down in front of the house before he decided to just run with it and take off. They’d both been drinking, going back in there and having to explain himself when he really had no explanation at all would be a mistake, one that’d no doubt make matters worse.

 

Sobriety was the key to progression here, and Johnny progressed right on home, welcoming said sobriety before he let his visions come anywhere near true. He could no longer trust his emotions; so damn miserable since Sarah’s death… so hungry to cling to the few remaining pieces of his life (i.e.: Walt and J.J.) that the lines blurred. Johnny was grown-up enough to know what was going on, and it killed him that he couldn’t handle his emotions in a better way, but… he _needed_ Walt, he really did, and denying that wasn’t helping anybody—only insulting himself.

 

Running away wasn’t what he was doing—he was retreating, tactically.

 

 

Johnny’s old house seemed even lonelier somehow when he stumbled inside in the dark at around two in the morning cursing himself as he frantically tugged off the crude bindings that Walt had tactilely wrapped around his hand. He was pissed off—at himself.

 

Of course, nothing was going to happen—Walt wasn’t like that. He just… must have misinterpreted the visions, or been under more stress than even he thought.

 

_Why would Walt want me to stay?_

 

Johnny tried not to torture himself too much (there’s been too much of that, lately) as he climbed on the bed and let his mind drift. Yes. Best to just release and wake up refreshed, no longer with a clouded mind. Unfortunately, his clouded mind was drifting in all the wrong directions once his eyes closed, way off-course, back to that appalling vision… appalling.

 

_Yeah, that’s the way to describe it, all right…_

 

Still, Johnny’s cut and grazed hand had slid down over his stomach and down to slip inside his jeans with a breathy sigh. He couldn’t do this any more. He missed Sarah, and Walt was the nearest thing he’ll ever have. It helped that his conscience was numb with grief; otherwise he might have talked himself out of this.

 

Jeans were way too tight; he shoved them down over his hips and fished out his cock with a sleepy urgency and began to stroke, Walt’s scent still deep in his memory, and his strength…

 

“Fuck,” gasped Johnny, as sense broke the illusion.

 

He sat up sharply, hand still holding his own cock, too paralyzed to do much else.

 

“What the hell, Johnny?” Johnny cursed him with a bitter tongue, and halted whatever he was about to do with gusto as he undressed with a rage that had his throwing his clothes against the room.

 

His hear beat wildly and his head buzzed with both alcohol and shock at the revelation that he was just about to drunkenly masturbate while thinking about Walt.

 

Walt: the widower of his old girlfriend.

 

It was wrong and pathetic, and John Smith realized that.

 

“Just how low are you sinking, Johnny?” he asked himself when he finally calmed down, hand covering his warm face.

 

His guess: pretty low.

 

Not many men, even those grief-stricken and brain-damaged like himself would resort to self physical pleasure at the encounter of a friend. Even drunk, he had no excuse. It was the kind of thing normal men might see a shrink for. Johnny needed no shrink, however, to tell him that he was simply lonely, and substituting emotion with sex.

 

But why did it have to be Walt?

 

Neither of them were gay…

 

_But then… what the hell was that vision about?_

 

 

 

At around seven o’clock the next morning, Walt was the first thing on Johnny’s mind. Mortification struck him harder than the hangover. He was horrified at his behavior the night before; desperately soaking in the gloriously rich atmosphere that was Walt, wanting to stay, wanting him badly, and then escaping like a coward as the real possibility of something happening.

 

Johnny wasn’t sure he could trust himself in a bed with Walt, especially if they were both inebriated, but at this point it was all he could think about, and worse than his perversions, he regretted not getting in bed with him, because that was what he wanted. It was selfish, but why the hell couldn’t he?

 

Nothing was fair to Johnny Smith.

 

First, wanting Sarah, but not having Sarah…

 

Then, Sarah taken away by Walt…

 

Sarah dead.

 

Now, wanting Walt but not having Walt…

 

It was was a fucking joke.

 

All just a big conspiracy to further fuck with this once normal man, who only ever wanted a normal life; a normal girl, a house and a cool job. No, none of that for this man. Fate had a wicked sense of humor.

 

_So, I’m gay now? Figures. Sarah out of the way, and I still can’t get any._

 

Up at around ten, he debated just giving Bruce a call, maybe finding something to do since he hadn’t been called in to any kind of work as of late but didn’t want to bother him any more than Walt. He was keeping his distance too, out of respect, knowing that Johnny knew how to best see himself through tragedy.

 

So, that was out.

 

Fondly, Johnny remembered hanging out with Walt and J.J. those few times… Walt with his shirt off, and J.J. bouncing on his lap. Fuck, it was adorable and Johnny wanted it back. He wanted it back, and it crushed him.

 

For a long time he’d been inundated by visions less apocryphal, involving him, and the family he could never have. It was tormenting, but they always made him happy for those brief moments. He’d come to terms with never being able to have Sarah a long time ago, but he still wanted to be in J.J.’s life… imagine his relief when he managed to befriend his son’s father, Walt; that way he had an excuse to hang around and check on him.

 

Now… without Sarah… without that particular barrier giving Walt a cause to distrust him, could he continue this? He wasn’t surprised when Walt became suspicious of him, and even less when he decided that it wasn’t a good idea for Johnny to keep spending time with J.J. but he wasn’t going to accept that, and now, things were at least looking brighter.

 

Walt was willing to accept this… arrangement, and Johnny was happy with that.

 

He could watch another man raise his son. But he wanted to be there for it, to watch them both. It was what Sarahh would want—she wouldn’t have liked it for her husband to handle this all by himself.

 

He had a dangerous job, and J.J. needed someone present to always be there, just in case something happened.

 

Johnny told himself, as he got out of bed, to stay away from Walt.

 

_You stay away from Walt Bannerman, Johnny Smith… he doesn’t need the trouble._

 

Johnny didn’t listen, because he was already getting dressed and climbing in to his car. His breath was coming out short; he was excited, and nervous. Any normal man going through what Walt was would have not even got out of bed. Now… Walt was probably hungover, and since he was still on-leave, he might even have just decided to stay in today. The idea was creating a little bubble in Johnny’s stomach as he hastily drove there.

 

When he did arrive, Walt’s car was still there…

 

 _Good_.

 

However, when he pulled up, he couldn’t move. The getting there was the easy part; exactly what to do now was more of a difficulty. So, like a creep he just stayed there, cut his engine and watched the house. At least he was in a car this time so that he didn’t have to hang around outside.

 

It appeared as though there was more than just a little activity going on after an hour. The curtains were open and Johnny had happened to doze off, so he hadn’t even noticed. His heart leapt in his throat for a beat before he clenched his jaw and made effort to exit the car and approach the house. In the daylight it looked different, less threatening, but still goddamn cold.

 

“Morning, John,” said Walt at the door.

 

Well, Johnny stared blankly for a moment; he hadn’t expected Walt to answer the door, let alone open it to greet him before he even managed to knock. He looked… interesting. Still mostly dressed, hair uncombed and shirt wide open, again exposing the oddly hypnotic chest to Johnny, who naturally looked him up and down.

 

“Yeah, uh, hi.” It was a clumsy greeting followed by a nervous quiver of his lip that almost became a smile until he curbed it, and a rapid blink that he had no control over whatsoever.

 

Walt looked wonderfully inviting, warm, and not at all grizzly. Somewhere there, there was a hint of ordinariness. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either, just leaning on the doorframe and staring downwards with the occasional look upwards at the man on his doorstep.

 

“I thought you might be a little rough this morning with how much you put away last night. You feeling okay?”

 

Walt nodded, weakly. “Uh, yeah… yeah, just a little… come in…”

 

“You sure?”

 

Walt’s glance became a mild stare before finally he nodded, and moved sluggishly to let Johnny inside.

 

Johnny hesitated, watching as the man’s movements required attention. The caring side of him wanted to reach out and help him, but the more manly side decided it was best to just let Walt deal with this. He didn’t look like he was feeling too good and that earned sympathy. The problem was: Walt hated sympathy.

 

Christ, he felt warm as Johnny squeezed passed him to enter the house… his breath ghosted across his cheek, and while still boozy, he needed it. It was wonderful.

 

Snapping out of it, Johnny emerged in to the Bannerman house.

 

Walt, behind him, closed the door and then brushed shoulders passed Johnny on his way to the living room.

 

Johnny followed, as if in a daze.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Walt nursing his head in his hand and Johnny sat neatly across from him.

 

“You… got something to say John, or you just gonna sit there judging me?”

 

“I’m not judging you, Walt,” scoffed Johnny, shaking his head. “In fact, maybe I am… just a little.”

 

Johnny earned himself a sneer at that.

 

Better than nothing.

 

“J.J. comes back Monday,” said Walt, apparently trying to start conversation.

 

Johnny found it endearing. Johnny found everything about him endearing; the color of his eyes; the broadness of his chest; the ruffles of his hair… he was just… something Johnny was beginning to dream about. He wanted those strong arms to encircle someone now that Sarah was gone, and he wanted that someone to be him—why not? They were both alone and miserable.

 

“That’s good,” replied Johnny, slowly. “Want me to help clean this place up before then? I mean, place isn’t exactly up to its usual standard.”

 

“That’s because my wife is dead, John,” came the firm, if not harsh response.

 

Johnny bit his lip and bowed his head. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“Then why are you still… hanging around?”

 

Sighing starkly, Johnny tried not to take that personally; he was evidently grouchy and still looking for a fight—with anyone—to wrong the injustice of his wife’s death, no matter how irrational.

 

“Maybe I like you, Walt,” he said, bitterly. “Maybe I care about you, and J.J., and don’t like to see this… rift. J.J. needs his father right now…”

 

“—Which happens to be you.”

 

“No, no—that’s not what I meant at all,” said Johnny, getting up and circling; Walt was looking for a fight, but he was going to make damn sure that didn’t happen.

 

“It’s true though… and now that Sarah… what’s the point? I have no… biological connection to the boy—my boy—at all. Legally, you could take him—”

 

“Walt, will you stop?” Johnny interrupted with a note of despairing submission. He threw his arms in the air and turned to look at Walt.

 

He no longer seemed to even be talking to Johnny, just himself.

 

“It might even be good for him. I mean, look at me—”

 

“‘Look at me’ what?” Sighed Johnny, finally having enough of this nihilistic Walt.

 

Johnny approached Walt, and got down on his knees on the floor in front of where Walt was sitting. He rested his hands firmly on Walt’s thighs, just to get his attention and leaned closely in.

 

“I’m… shit,” Walt almost sobbed; he was close to it, close to breaking.

 

“You are not,” Johnny asserted, leaning in closer; close to breaking point himself.

 

Walt, unheeded, continued: “Without her, I am… I…”

 

Johnny had to do something; he just _had_ to. Walt was dangerously close to a downward spiral of self-pity. The drinking was a cry for help, and Johnny was kicking himself for not noticing it sooner. He could feel the hot breath of Walt coming out fast and hard, on the edge of crying, across his lips, and couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to stop this.

 

The kiss was rough and un-romantic; just a sudden meeting of lips that was more of a clash than anything, but Johnny threw his whole weight in to it, pulling himself up and forward with enough force to bruise. His eyes closed, but that was only to block out the horrified expression on the man’s face as he did it. He pulled back as quickly as he came.

 

But there was no horrified expression on Walt’s face. In fact, there didn’t seem to be a reaction at all. He was still sitting there, eyes darkly downcast and unblinking. When he did cast his eyes upwards to meet Johnny’s, he did not overreact, or underreact. He simply looked at him.

 

He said, mumbled: “You… kissed me.”

 

Johnny had been sitting there close, eyes wide with edgy anticipation, and when Walt reacted mildly, he broke in to a weak, sad smile, wishing he had made it last, something to remember. But Johnny could not regret it, even if the reasons behind it were as confusing to him as they were to Walt. He just didn’t want him to be sad any more.

 

“I wanted to punch you,” he said, slowly rising.

 

Walt scoffed: “Liar.”

 

There was an actual smirk there; a tiny upturning at the corner of Walt’s lips that brought a devastating rush of coolness to his heated face.

 

Walt didn’t care. He didn’t get pissed. It was all he hoped for, and he seemed to at least notice him now; even if his eyes did lower again only moments after the connection had been made.

 

“Maybe,” chuckled John. He was embarrassed with himself for being so damn weak, but it was for the best. All that he could do now, was play the kiss off as something minor, and forget the whole thing. “Just… ignore that ever happened, I mean… snap out of it… okay? I won’t have you being so… fucking pitiful when J.J. gets here. He needs you, and he needs you to be strong. We all miss her, but what’s important is that little boy doesn’t ever feel unloved because of her.”

 

“No… I wouldn’t, never…”

 

Watching as Walt shifted in the chair (a movement, finally!) and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, as if to hold back the inevitable tears, Johnny softened again, and quickly sat down next to Walt. Gently taking him by the wrists, Johnny lowered Walt’s hands down with some effort.

 

God, Walt’s eyes were red. He was crying.

 

“Oh, Walt… Walt, come here…”

 

And they were hugging.

 

No premonitions.

 

Walt silently sobbed in to Johnny’s arms, and Johnny pulled the man hard against him, squeezed him and never wanted to let go. It went on for several minutes, where neither John nor Walt could pretend they weren’t crying, but it eventually died down to quiet breathing, warm and content, but still sad. It was strange. It ended when John’s hands sneaked up to stroke through Walt’s hair, however.

 

“Shh, shh,” he hushed, warmly against his ear.

 

Clearing his throat, Walt awkwardly disentangled himself, but made no effort to move. He just sat back and closed his eyes, seemingly accepting of some mental relief.

 

Johnny’s breathing calmed when Walt let out a huge sigh, and they went back to sitting next to each other as if nothing ever happened, though Walt seemed to be in better spirits, broken from that scary trance of self-loathing and pessimism. If only he could have felt the same relief, but he was too nervous, aware that he was toeing the line with Walt; one step too far and it could all come crashing down. A kiss or hug too many and he might cast him out like garbage, never speak to him again… it was too much to bear. He needed to control himself around Walt, and become more measured.

 

Walt spoke, “She’s really gone, isn’t she, John?”

 

Johnny could only nod.

 

He wanted to tell him that life goes on, but he couldn’t. It was his turn to be silent, it seemed. He was aware that Walt was now looking at him, as if he was looking for answers in his face, but thankfully, he didn’t stare for long enough to see the redness in his cheeks, or the unconscious lick of lips.

 

“You wanna use the shower?” asked Walt.

 

Surprised, pleasantly, Johnny turned and cocked his head, bemused. “No, thanks. You’re the one who needs a shower…”

 

Before he could continue, Walt had patted him on the knee and used it to lift himself up off of the couch and to his feet. There, he groaned as his knees cracked, and began to stumble out of the room, leaving Johnny relieved enough to smile. Walt’s shirt was off and tossed over the back of the couch. Johnny calmly remained, even as he heard Walt’s belt being pulled off. His fingers traced the lines of the shirt next to him on the couch, and his eyes roamed over it, with more fondness than a shirt really deserved.

 

Walt, meanwhile, went through the house, ditching various articles of clothing until he was naked and in the bathroom. Ever since she died, he couldn’t look himself in the mirror, which he bypassed, heading straight in to the shower. Johnny was right: he stank, and was in dire need of a fresh start to the day. Who knew? It might even help lift his spirits.

 

Johnny waited until the sound of water came to lift the shirt.

 

_This is Walt’s shirt… Walt’s…_

 

It was still warm, and smelled amazing—at least, to Johnny. He melted in to it, leaning over on to his side with the shirt pressed under his face, he clutched the cloth to his face, and was completely shameless in his desire for the man who was only moments before inside it. Johnny nuzzled in to it, and whined when the scent strongly took hold.

 

 _Smells so good._ “Oh, Walt…” _smells like Walt_.

 

The spell was broken after about a minute, when guilt set in and he just had to stop. Still, he clung on to the shirt, looking at it, stroking his thumbs over the collar… enough.

 

“Enough,” Johnny steeled himself.

 

Deciding to make himself useful, Johnny made good on his offer to help Walt tidy the place up, starting with the clothes he’d just carelessly dropped. It wasn’t like Walt to be messy and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him start now.

 

Following the trail, Johnny went and picked up item after item.

 

“Belt… pants,” _they’ll need washing_. “Sock…” _still moist. Nice_. “Other one…” by now, Johnny’s breath was caught in his throat. He saw, just by the door, Walt’s black boxers, just carelessly tossed there. That meant, that Walt, for a time, had bared himself to the world, and Johnny couldn’t help but curse himself for being too much of a damn coward at not having turned around. Picking up Walt’s underwear, Johnny felt dirty, but the task had to be done. He went right ahead and shoved them in the washing machine before Walt got out of the shower, and then scavenged the few rooms to find anything else that might need washing, too, finding nothing but an old pair of socks in the bedroom and a small hand towel by the bed.

 

Walt was emerging just as he was doing this.

 

Johnny’s mouth hung open as the wall of steam gave way to a very wet, very naked Walt, and he floundered for a moment before averting his gaze and continuing picking up items.

 

“John, leave that… I can do it,” he said, entering the room with a towel that he was just wrapping around his hips just as Johnny rose to face him.

 

“Already done, just toss that towel in after you’re done, yeah? I’ll grab you something to wear—you’re not staying here in the dark all day. I forbid it.”

 

Shrugging, Walt started to dry himself off, totally unselfconsciously in front of Johnny. Apparently, he had forgotten the little kiss from earlier, because most men, after that, probably wouldn’t have been so open anymore. But not Walt.

 

“Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot,” called Walt as Johnny was dumping more things in the wash. “You can, uh, toss that letter away. I already called off the dogs, I mean, Lawyers.”

 

Johnny faced Walt and nodded. It was good. Good to have that off his back. He already forgave Walt for his insane lapse of trust, but it was still a huge relief.

 

“Good. You better have.”

 

Walt looked down at that; evidently, he was guilty—rightly so. He was trying, actually _trying_ to look him in the eye, and with every cautious glance in to them and then away had Johnny swallow the lump in his throat. It was just so… meaningful, that he was apologizing, in his own way. Walt didn’t say the words exactly, but the action was enough to spell it out. Walt was regretful, and he was sorry, and that meant, for Johnny, that he cared.

 

“I… don’t want you out of J.J.’s life at all,” he said, a sheepish rub at the back of his neck, and there it was: “I don’t want you out of my life. I’m sorry, John…”

 

“I know you are.”

 

A hand on Walt’s shoulder was enough.

 

Walt sighed, and reached up and squeezed Johnny’s hand.

 

The moment was just that—a moment—and it evaporated with cooling warmth that spread between them. The pain was still there, but they chose to not let it dominate. It was time to move on.

 

Walt’s hand returned and he offered Johnny a weak smile.

 

“I can get my own clothes, thanks,” he said, tossing the wet towel at Johnny before he sauntered off again back to the bedroom. From there, he called: “Just… stick around, alright. I’m… taking the day off, as you’ve probably figured out. I mean, unless you have something better to do?”

 

“No,” replied Johnny, quickly, as he was turning on the washing machine “Nothing.”

 

“Good, then we’ll make plans.”

 

And plans they made, with Johnny suggesting lunch at a restaurant, and then drinks at a bar before returning to Johnny’s to watch the game.

 

 

 

Things got much better over the next few days.

 

Walt returned to work again, but was warned by Johnny not to overdo it, and for one day, he was asked to tag along.

 

“John,” said Walt, driving from point A to point B. “Is there something on your mind?”

 

Johnny had been sat there in almost total silence, a frown knitting on his forehead until he snapped out of it. “No—nothing.”

 

Walt didn’t believe him, clearly, but he didn’t say anything.

 

It was one of those days, and Johnny was the default option yet again. Sometimes he wondered if the Sherriff’s department even bothered showing up anymore; just called in John Smith and stayed home. Of course, he couldn’t solve everything.

 

“This about J.J.?” sighed Walt. “I told you: everything will be fine. He will be over in the afternoon, back from his grandparent’s, and we’ll be there together to spend all night with him. I’d appreciate it if we get today over with quickly—and professionally before then, however.”

 

Johnny nodded; he understood that.

 

“Yeah,” it was unconvincing.

 

“Things just… seem strange. I can’t believe she’s gone,” said Johnny.

 

He was still coming to terms with it. Understanding the fact that Sarah was dead was one thing, accepting it was quite another. Walt’s hand left the wheel and came to rest on the back of Johnny’s neck and stroked him there consolingly. Johnny groaned and leaned back against the touch.

 

“I know. I can’t believe it either, John.”

 

“Have you ever…” he stopped, and decided to think before speaking.

 

Walt raised an eyebrow and put his hand back on the wheel. “Have I ever what?”

 

“You know… and don’t… overreact,” Johnny held up his hands, just to convey as little threat as possible. “But, have you ever considered seeing a therapist?”

 

“No,” scoffed Walt. “Most definitely not. What could some shrink tell me? I mean… J.J. is getting all kinds of support, but…”

 

Johnny studied Walt’s face. He seemed put-off by the idea of sharing his thoughts and feelings with a stranger. He couldn’t blame him. Red-blooded American men like Walt weren’t keen on the whole ‘feelings’ thing.

 

“Who needs ‘em when I got you, eh?” Uncharacteristically, he ruffled John’s hair.

 

Johnny didn’t like that, but he smiled anyway, unsure of the motive behind the sudden affection. In actuality, he liked it very much. He needed it. He was desperate for some kind of touch, but hell if he could openly admit that. No. It was best to smooth his hair back the right direction and give Walt a playful punch on the arm in retaliation.

 

This was becoming a habit.

 

The last day and a half saw Walt squeezing Johnny’s arms, shoulders…

 

_Oh, but this is new…_

 

Walt touched Johnny’s hand.

 

He went rigid, unsure of what this meant.

 

“Is it alright?” He asked, running his thumb over Johnny’s palm, then stroking over his fingers.

 

It took Johnny almost ten seconds before he could fully comprehend or gather words on his tongue that weren’t clumsy and foolish.

 

Walt was asking about his hand.

 

Johnny nodded, somewhat quickly and replied: “Yeah, it’s fine. Thanks.”

 

Perhaps another moment of insanity came over him—he didn’t know—but he had the excuse, and curled his fingers around Walt’s.

 

Walt looked at him, blankly at first, but then smiled.

 

Walt finished the car ride like that; driving with one hand, holding Johnny’s with the other. It was quite something to see.

 

Unfortunately, this was just for them.

 

 

 

The case was wrapped up easily, but Johnny still was having visions, visions of sex, with Walt. The touch of Walt’s hand in the car had brought him to an embarrassing near-orgasm before he managed to shut them off, with Walt, concerned releasing his hand and giving his shoulder a shake.

 

Really, he was shaking… breathing hard, the works.

 

“You alright? You’ve been acting weird all day,” noted Walt.

 

They had just pulled up at Walt’s and were expecting J.J. to arrive any minute.

 

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just a little weird, I guess.”

 

“A little,” scoffed Walt, getting his jacket and getting out of the car. “Hurry up, we should get cleaned up before J.J. arrives.”

 

Johnny nodded. It’d been an easy day so far, but he’d been on-edge.

 

Walt stopped suddenly, and Johnny bumped in to him, ass to crotch.

 

“Um, Johnny,” said Walt.

 

“Sorry,” said Johnny with an awkward gasp and he shifted back.

 

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, right?” He said, opening the door and stepping in. “Not that I’m complaining—I’m not—it’s great. But aren’t you bored of me now, John? I would be.”

 

Johnny scoffed, “really? Really? You’re not boring, Walt.”

 

Inside the house again (it was starting to feel like a second home for Johnny) Johnny closed the door behind him. Damn, he was getting used to this routine and it was starting to worry him. Sure, he’d never stayed long enough to risk staying overnight, but he was worried about today. If J.J. arrived, could he ever tear himself away from his family?

 

“That’s good, because you’re gonna have to hang around with us a lot more—you know that, right?”

 

He did.

 

“I do.”

 

A somber nod from Walt had them silently agreeing to a further arrangement—right as J.J. turned up.

 

 

 

Johnny bit back his emotions and smiled, as the boy arrived, not quite the same as he remembered. He was welcomed in to Walt’s arms. Walt knelt down outside the house to greet him. It didn’t surprise Johnny that Walt was open about showing affection to his stepson, as he had always treated him as his own child. Perhaps he should have been jealous (and a long time ago, he was) but this scene only hurt him; the boy was growing up but he still needed his father and mother. It took this scene to make Johnny forget petty things like jealousy, and even his own grief.

 

Like Walt, he had come to censor himself for the sake of J.J. to do the selfless thing and be there for him, because he was the one who was suffering the most through all of this.

 

“Hi, J.J.,” said Johnny, warmly, giving the boy a long hug right after Walt.

 

“Hi,” he replied.

 

Johnny noted that he, too, was trying not to cry, especially not in front of these two men. They’d make fun of him.

 

“You okay, sport?” Asked Walt.

 

J.J. looked up and nodded slowly, “I think so…”

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

They spent an hour in the house together, but… something was off. This was no longer a happy place. J.J. was sat tensely on the floor between Walt’s legs, and Walt sat with his knuckles resting against his cheek. Johnny admired the lines of Walt’s jaw and eyes for most of this time as he was sat some distance away, but it was the silence that was most oppressive here.

 

“It’s creepy in here,” said Johnny, surprising even himself.

 

J.J. and Walt alike both turned their heads and looked at him. Walt looked as though he was about to flip, but that temper cooled before his eyes even made contact and he huffed, turned back to the television. J.J. continued to stare at Johnny, and Johnny stared back.

 

“I like that you’re here,” he said in a small voice. “It is creepy though…”

 

Johnny chuckled warmly and moved over to sit next to Walt, and J.J. immediacy stood and sat between the two men, which Johnny liked. He put an arm around the boy.

 

“Well, how about, instead of sitting here, we go out for pizza and ice cream? Then we could go to mine… watch the game; slide around the floor in our socks and see who can make the most baskets.”

 

“That sounds good,” the boy immediately perked up, and then looked at his dad.

 

Walt half-rolled his eyes and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Are you sure? Johnny has a lot of rules…”

 

“No, I don’t,” interrupted Johnny, already feeling better himself. “C’mon, grab your coats while the place is still open.”

 

“That… does sound good, actually,” agreed Walt, reluctantly.

 

Clearly, Walt was stuck between his usual stern parenting style and wanting to be the fun dad, too. He wanted to make his son feel better, and since J.J. seemed to like John’s idea, it seemed he had little choice.

 

So, after grabbing their things, they vacated the ‘creepy’ house and took Johnny’s car in to town. It was quiet, relatively, and they ate pizza, with a large one to share. Johnny ate probably more than his share but Walt ate less than his, but by the end there was hardly anything left, so it went down well.

 

After ice cream, they were all pretty damn full, so going ahead with Johnny’s plan, they progressed to his house, which J.J. always liked because of it’s size, but on the outside it was no less creepy.

 

“John,” said Walt as they entered the house and hung up their coats. He’d stopped Johnny with a grab of his arm once J.J. had ran off to the living room.

 

For a moment, Johnny was concerned; Walt had sounded unusually quiet. “What’s up?”

 

“I… uh,” Walt looked down, but didn’t let go of Johnny.

 

“Walt…”

 

Walt seemed to stutter, or struggle with his own tongue and his own breath for but a moment before finally standing up straight; that good ol’ boy Walt back in his usual confident posture. Johnny couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed. Something was going on in his mind, but what? Was he going to put up, or shut up? Johnny wanted to just grab him and kiss him.

 

“John, uh, I…” again, a struggle; one hand secured on his hip, his other moved around to rub the back of his neck. Classic stalling move. “Today was nice. Thanks, but you really don’t have to do all this for us.”

 

Johnny sniggered, “are you kidding? I haven’t had this much fun in years. If I’m doing this for anyone, Walt, then it’s for us—not you. You forget that I’m a very lonely, boring man, Walt. It’s nice—not ‘it’s nice that Sarah is dead’, because fuck, it isn’t—it’s nice that we get this… like, we can still go on, and not… piss about with stupid stuff.”

 

“We’re in this together.”

 

“That’s right,” affirmed Johnny with a nod.

 

Walt seemed to stagger and sway on the spot for a second with his hands in his pockets, which made Johnny wonder and frown. It wasn’t until Walt urgently tilted forward and pressed all his weight in to Johnny that he realized what Walt’s deal was: he was building himself up. Instinctively, Johnny’s arms wrapped tightly around Walt’s taut back, clutched for something—anything—to grip on to. Tightly they clutched each other and Johnny had to get his back against the wall just to remain upright.

 

“Daddy?”

 

They broke apart somewhat awkwardly, quicker than was natural for a simple hug.

 

“Yeah, kiddo,” said Walt, clearing his throat.

 

“Can I have cookies?”

 

“You just ate,” Walt chided, rolling his eyes at Johnny and heading towards J.J.

 

Johnny was left reeling, his heart beating; Walt had just hugged him, and he could have sworn that if J.J. hadn’t interrupted things, Walt would still have his nose against his neck and arms tight around him. It took him a minute to collect himself and rid himself of that pesky blush and then coax down the erection in his pants and he was back with Walt and J.J. in the change of scenery that was somewhat less strange than Walt’s Sarah-less house.

 

They spent the rest of the night together watching television. The mood was peculiar at first. Walt and J.J. were quiet, and Johnny was frequently the one to make noise. Indeed at first, he was worried, but the mood soon lightened once they settle in to a game of indoor basketball. Walt watched the two-man game with a noticeable fondness, and after, they all ended up sprawled on the couch. J.J. was tired and ended up with his head nestled on his father’s lap and his legs in Johnny’s. Walt stroked the sleeping boy’s soft blonde hair.

 

“You know,” whispered Johnny. “It seems a shame we should wake him when it’s already so late. You guys should stay over.”

 

Johnny tried to silence himself, but it was already out. Remembering the prior vision had him nervously regretting his offer, but he doubted Walt would actually take him up on it.

 

“Hm, sure,” he replied, quietly.

 

Sadly, Johnny reached over and touched the back of Walt’s head. A part of him really wanted him to say decline. The hand became braver when Walt’s eyes closed, seemingly in a peaceful approval, and fingers began to thread through the hair there in gentle circles.

 

“That’s nice,” Walt croaked.

 

Warmly bolstered, Johnny slid closer, to press his side against the other man while not disturbing the boy and hooked the same arm around his shoulders. The fingers that had played with his hair were replaced with Johnny’s lips and nose. His temple pressed against Walt’s. His eyes closed. Gently, he breathed. Walt had a wonderful scent, and he was receptive, letting out a soft moan.

 

“Mm, we should go to bed,” Walt said, but made no effort to move.

 

Johnny hummed, “Hm-mm,” against the back of Walt’s ear, and made alike movements.

 

Walt was the first to move, clearing his throat as he slowly—very slowly—leaned forward, being extra careful not to disturb his son, who did offer a quiet groan of disapproval at the stirring but remained asleep, even as Walt rose and pulled him over his shoulder with him.

 

By his side, Johnny had his hand on the small of Walt’s back, and one hand on the back of J.J.’s head, to support them both as the Sherriff shuffled along out of the room. Figuring there was no reason to remain, John turned off the television and followed along closely behind Walt all the way up the stairs.

 

J.J. and Walt took the smaller room upon Walt’s insistence. Johnny was standing in the room, watching as Walt sat down and began to undress; mesmerized by the neat way he folded his shirt. His own bed was big enough for the three of them but he thought that that would be pushing it.

 

“It’s better that I sleep in here with him,” said Walt, apparently reading Johnny’s mind. “He might wake up… wondering where his mom is, or have some bad dream.”

 

Johnny knew that Walt was just avoiding the inevitable. J.J. wasn’t really so young that he couldn’t sleep alone just because his mom died. It was the fact that they were in a strange house that was the culprit. He wanted to argue that it’d be much better if they could all stay in one room, like a big campout, maximum support for the bereaved, but didn’t have the energy. Walt was already in his boxers and getting under the covers.

 

“Good night,” he said, realizing he’d probably stared for too long.

 

His own room seemed really empty as he lay there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Visions of hellfire and damnation returned but they were so stale now that they couldn’t stir him. Instead his thoughts remained set on the man sleeping next door….

 

His family…

 

Every since the accident, his life had been in a state of flux; waiting for some stability. A part of him had held out hope that Walt would just die and he could get back with Sarah and have that family he’d always wanted. Her death put a stop to that. In the years since waking up, he had grown to unexpectedly like the man who’d took his place. He couldn’t blame him, he was a good guy who had his head in the right place—unlike him. Maybe the humbleness and enlightenment he felt at growing friendly with Walt Bannerman was something deeper on the underlying level all along.

 

The Mr. Normal, Mr. Boring, John Smith had always followed a very unexciting life. He was just a teacher in a small town. Liked, and had friends, but there was nothing overtly interesting about him. It seemed, since the calamitous crash, all the cracks had given way to a different, much more remarkable Johnny, not just in terms of an awakened super-power, but generally, he was about as far from normal as one could get with his ‘special’ brain.

 

Was it really so unbelievable that it might have changed, unlocked new variants in his personality too? He didn’t remember liking men before the accident that much, except maybe the odd man-crush or two. It must have just been something new exposed to him, like a side effect. As far as homosexual attractions could go, he could do a lot worse than Walt Bannerman.

 

He was a man’s-man, strong and seemingly invincible, but civil in the most terrible circumstances. They’d been through a lot together—A hell of a lot more than he ever had or ever could go through with Sarah in a so-called ‘normal’ life. He was exciting, without knowing it.

 

Johnny didn’t like his new ‘gift’.

 

Johnny liked Walt.

 

Johnny _wanted_ Walt.

 

“ _Walt_ …” he moaned, part agony, part ecstasy.

 

“John?”

 

Rapping lightly at the partly open door, Walt stepped inside the darkened bedroom, and Johnny reacted first in shock, bolting upright in the bed like waking from a bad dream, sweat stuck a strand of hair up at a weird angle but he managed to relax when he saw the man was real and not some terrible apparition of the future.

 

Walt stood there for a moment, looking uncharacteristically childlike undressed and hopping from foot to foot, pinching himself. He looked like he was

 

“I… uh, didn’t wanna wake J.J.,” he muttered. “Do… do you mind?”

 

“Mind?” Said Johnny, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yeah,” said Walt impatiently.

 

Obviously, Walt needed to use the bathroom, and a smirk appeared on Johnny’s face. He could have just been sympathetic and said ‘of course,’ but of course, it was much more fun to toy with him, just a little, because it was just so unusual to see Walt close to coming apart like this. Hell, he looked as though he was ready to beg, and that was something he’d like to see.

 

“What am I minding, Walt?” He asked, holding back an all-out grin as he adjusted himself to sit back on his elbows.

 

“Come on, man…” Walt rolled his eyes.

 

Both hands were now covering his crotch. He looked deliciously uncomfortable, even sweating a bit. It impressed Johnny that Walt was even standing there asking permission instead of just marching in, but, he guessed, Walt and he had become pretty damn close lately, and he was wanting to show respect.

 

“No, really,” Johnny feigned ignorance. “What are you asking of me, Walt Bannerman?”

 

“Screw you—I’m dribbling, here,” complained Walt. “Unless you want sticky floors, I recommend letting me through.”

 

Johnny laughed; he couldn’t help it.

 

“Alright, alright—go on, hurry,” he chuckled and rolled over to sleep on his side while Walt hurried.

 

Walt wasted no time stumbling through in to the bathroom, noisily lifting the seat and letting loose with a relieved sigh.

 

As Johnny listened, he clutched the covers to his chest fondly. Walt wasn’t more than ten feet away, dick in hand. It occurred to him that Walt could have easily used the other bathroom without waking J.J., but instead he chose to come to him. That likely meant that he had something on his mind and he was using the bathroom thing as an icebreaker. He was fine with that, but also unconscionably aroused.

 

Walt, as expected returned shortly after flushing.

 

Even with his back to him and eyes closed, he could tell that Walt was hanging around; standing at the other side of the bad, adjusting his boxers. He could feel his eyes on him, and after a few seconds, he could feel his weight settle nearby.

 

“Hey, uh, John?”

 

Johnny opened his eyes and slowly turned over to lay on his back once more, hands behind his head as he looked at the man with an outwardly passive interest, while inside, his pulse raced. He was aware by this point, that Walt had been actively seeking out alone-time with him; first, in the hallway, and now here. Something was up, and he wasn’t certain a thanks was all he had on his tongue this time, and that excited him enough to smile.

 

“What about J.J.? If you wanted a sleepover, you might’ve included him, too.”

 

Walt scoffed in superficial disgust: “that’s… shut up, listen…”

 

Johnny listened, but there seemed to be very little in way of words coming from Walt. Walt licked his lips, vaguely checked over his shoulder and leaned closer, with his eyes mysteriously focusing on one thing… _closer_ …

 

Closing his eyes, Johnny gasped and arched his back instinctively in to the kiss that followed. So unexpected it was, that Johnny’s chest began to swell up with emotion, paralyzing his form as Walt took charge, letting him kiss him, letting him smooth his lips against his, and relaxing in the heat that came from him.

 

Walt was unsurprisingly adept at this. Kissing without being overtly aggressive. It was Johnny who let out another surprised, deprived breath and opened his mouth, and Walt who took the opportunity. What was really surprising was that this was happening at all. Sure, Walt had been awfully affectionate towards him lately, and he may have imagined… fantasized, but never did he really think…

 

The tongue silenced Johnny’s thoughts, as well as his quiet mewling; slow and sensual, Walt did not have any qualms about kissing another man so hotly and wetly. And Johnny was melting under him, allowing his arms to press him down, and body to climb closer. The taste of Walt was exploding inside his mouth, rich and unique, he responded in kind; tongues doing battle between the two caves like hungry dragons fighting for the last scrap, they broke apart for breath, reconnected and twisted to approach a new angle.

 

Hard as a rock, Johnny could no longer remain restrained by the covers over him, and finding new energy, he began to fight his way free, kicking back the covers and rising to his knees; Walt followed, seizing Johnny by the face and deepening the kiss with a deep growl of pleasure…

 

Johnny’s eyes opened, the hunger awakened and he drove himself at this man with as much foray as he could, and then they were in positions reversed; Walt on his back, and Johnny straddling him. Walt’s hands found his hips and subsequently found his cock, groped him roughly through the material…

 

“Oh, man,” gasped Johnny against his lips.

 

Walt didn’t look in any ways put off by the fact that he was massaging his erection, smoothing his palm back and forth over the silken tube of flesh, and that was a cause for alarm for Johnny, who could only previously imagine and dream about such a thing. Walt was unafraid, and that was just like him. It was clear now that Walt was going to go all the way—right now.

 

Johnny choked and broke the kiss; a string of saliva still connected their mouths and arched downwards before breaking. They were both breathing hard, they were both hard; it was a situation that was mutually beneficial, but could they really do this?

 

“John, what’s wrong?” Came the unruffled, but worried whisper.

 

Stalling for a reason—an excuse—why he opted to halt the kissing other than the simple panic that it was, Johnny allowed a flash of a smile to emerge, and stroked a hand up and down Walt’s firm chest; Walt’s hand held on to Johnny’s face, and thumb brushed over his cheek, then his lips.

 

“What was it you wanted to say?” mumbled Johnny.

 

Walt seemed to relax at that as he lay back down and looked up at Johnny. His hair was wet with sweat already, as was his naked form under the other. Walt turned his head away from Johnny for a brief few seconds while he seemed to curb some sort of irritation mixed with impatience before looking back up at Johnny with a crooked, vaguely sad smile.

 

He grumbled: “I’m not her, you know.”

 

Johnny froze for a second, and then: “I could say the same thing.”

 

Pressing his thumb to Johnny’s lower lip, Walt watched with a lazy serenity as Johnny opened his mouth for him to clumsily suck on him. Walt growled, low and stimulated; it seemed to have done the trick. Walt had been thinking about this for some time, apparently, with only his doubt over Johnny’s motives holding him back. Did Johnny want Walt to be Sarah? Or did Walt want Johnny to be her? It was impossible to imagine a female in place of either of them.

 

“John…” Walt groaned.

 

Encouraged by Walt moaning his name, Johnny allowed himself to enjoy this for what it was, and not for what lay in the back of his mind. He had wanted Walt for some time, and here he was: naked and willing beneath him. Walt didn’t care that he was a man, or that he wasn’t Sarah. Perhaps it was a rebound for him, but Johnny wanted to feel, wanted Walt to know, and move on.

 

With a shaky breath, Johnny melted against Walt’s strong chest, mouth descending against the crook of his neck and kissing and suckling the tender skin there. He could taste him, his sweat, his essence, and it was addictive. Downwards he traveled, lips, tongue and teeth working to meet every new patch of skin that came along the plunging trail; earning new sounds from the frustrated Walt, Johnny hurried, clamping down on his left nipple with a hungry desire he lapped at the stiff brown nubs and continued with his trek, leaving a wet stripe all the way down Walt’s body, and down his body slid until he was face to face with Walt’s provoked cock. It was not intimidating in size, for which Johnny was thankful for, as his first experimental lick was to the exposed head alone, eliciting a shudder and groan from the man who possessed it.

 

“Johnny, please…”

 

Blue eyes drifted up and locked on the sight: Walt writhing, back arching, arms high and hands gripping for the pillow. Johnny found everything about him enticing, even the way the hair under his arms revealed, further verified just how masculine and virile Walt was.

 

He gripped his cock now, around the base, and amazingly, his mouth refused to leave the erect tissue, licking the head. His lips slid down the shaft and around, not yet able, but building up confidence for the ultimate act. He wanted it, and he was no longer hiding that fact. Finally, ending Walt’s suffering, he inelegantly enveloped his wet lips around the rounded head, and did what came natural. Though obviously inexperienced, Walt didn’t seem to care too much about the lack of technique, for which Johnny was grateful.

 

The first time Johnny felt Walt’s cock pressing the back of his throat, he gagged and very nearly puked. He had to pull off. As a result, his face was much redder.

 

Supporting, Walt sat up slightly and reached down. Cupping Johnny’s cheek, he leaned down and brushed lips slowly, tasting himself, licking Johnny’s mouth with a graceful gratitude.

 

“It’s okay,” he hushed, looking in to John’s eyes while maintaining a hold of his face. “It’s okay.”

 

Nodding, Johnny wiped his snotty nose on the back of his hand and tried again, lowering his head at a different, less awkward angle. He wanted to do this, for Walt; he wanted to give him pleasure. There was no other way of putting it. This time he went further, opened his throat and began to suck in earnest; holding on to his cock with one hand and guiding it very untidily passed his lips and progressively inside the cavern of his mouth.

 

“Oh… my god,” moaned Walt.

 

As new as he was at this, he wasn’t naïve; he knew what was wrong and what was right. He knew how to sheath his teeth and he knew not to put himself at risk. After he began, he picked it up fairly easily, though he was still a long ways off being an expert. After a few minutes, Johnny could feel Walt getting tenser; his hand at the back of his head seized his hair at a tighter grip, and his face was screwed up in an obvious expression of confliction. He wanted to come, and he was close to it. Johnny sucked and sucked, getting an ache in his neck in the process, but he wanted this; he wanted to see Walt come undone.

 

“Jesus—John—” warned Walt in an upward-inflecting tone.

 

Johnny kept at it, ignoring Walt’s warnings and tightened the seal of his lips around half of his cock while he jerked him off at the same time.

 

That did it; Walt tensed, arched, and came.

 

Gasping and grinding, Walt’s come tasted like nothing Johnny had every tasted before, and covetously but meticulous, he swallowed, finding he had little choice but to do so, and with each mouthful, Walt began to come under control. It was beautiful for Johnny to watch, enthralling, in a way, to see the stern Sherriff break apart, come apart for him.

 

Tentatively removing himself from Walt’s softening prick, Johnny clambered away to wipe his mouth, leaving Walt there where he was on the bed, panting and sweaty like he’d never seen.

 

When Johnny returned, Walt was still laying there.

 

He lay next to him, on his side, facing the man, and daring to lay his palm on the sweat-slicked chest, idly tracing the muscles with a careful touch.

 

“You okay?” asked Johnny.

 

Walt nodded after a few seconds. He seemed dazed, staring up at the ceiling. After Johnny spoke, however, he took his hand out of his hair and turned his head to face the other man. There was some confusion lingering there, but the overlying look on Walt’s face was something… else.

 

“I’m good,” he said, laying a hand on Johnny’s hip and pulling him against his naked body. His mouth found his. “More than good.”

 

Taken by surprise by another bout of tongue-wrestling, Johnny put his hands on Walt’s arms and tried to stop him, so they could at least talk, but Walt’s mouth was insisting, so he opened up and kissed him back. It was strange, kissing after sex, but at the same time it was comforting.

 

“I gotta admit,” panted Johnny with a chuckle; their heads were bowed together. “Never expected this… I mean: I kinda wanted it…”

 

“Kinda?” asked Walt with an amused smirk.

 

“Yeah, kinda,” said Johnny with a strained laugh.

 

“That’s good to know…”

 

Before Johnny could say anything more, he was on his back, and Walt was stroking his semi-erect member, sending him in to near-shock with his astoundingly quick wrist. In a second he was rock hard and dripping in Walt’s closed fist. Johnny was screaming, absurdly loud, to the point that Walt had to cover his mouth with his own. He was coming ridiculously, quick, spurting hotly in to Walt’s hand, and over his knuckles between them, leaving sticky puddles on both of their stomachs.

 

“Oh, oh my god, Walt…”

 

Walt was laid flat on top of him, breathing loud and grinning with a cocky satisfaction as he licked the salt sweat on Johnny’s neck.

 

“Do you ever give up?”

 

“Nope,” he uttered, simply, going at it again in licking at John’s chest.

 

Johnny’s arms came alive, tightly wrapping around Walt as if he might fly away, locking body to body as sweat mingled with sweat, and skin with skin. Johnny never wanted to be apart from this man who returned his enthusiasm with an array of soft kisses to his collarbone.

 

“Good—I need you. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

 

“Hm-mm,” said Walt. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

 

Warmly, they lay like that, a mess but happy.

 

 

“No visions?” Asked Walt, some time later when they were laying side by side.

 

Johnny scoffed: “Nope.”

 

Walt sighed and leaned, pressing his face against the top of Johnny’s head, nuzzling in to blonde with an outwardly gruff affection that caused Johnny to sigh lightly and bask in the luminosity. Walt’s erection softened completely, much to his relief; he couldn’t come again tonight, he needed this: just to lie around and enjoy this. It was everything he’d been missing, and he didn’t want anything to interrupt.

 

Unfortunately, something did, but it was oddly welcomed.

 

“J.J.?” Walt sat up.

 

“Daddy?”

 

The boy came scampering in timidly in his underwear, looking about as adorable as Johnny had ever seen him, sleepy and heart-achingly confused. He stood there but didn’t come all the way in to the room. Johnny was the only one to react; panicking, sitting up and reaching for something to cover himself and the boy’s father—both were naked, and both would need to explain themselves no doubt.

 

Shyly, he asked: “Can I sleep with you guys, please?”

 

J.J., didn’t seem to bat and eyelid at his father’s or Johnny’s nudity, or the fact that they were in bed together, and Walt didn’t react either, and beckoned his son over to the bed.

 

“Sure, kiddo. Climb in.”

 

Johnny relaxed at that, and realized that J.J. hadn’t a clue what was going on; he was just a child, wonderfully naïve at times and innocent to such things. He moved over to one side and helped J.J. climb up on to the large bed between him and Walt. Guiltily, he realized that they weren’t the only two in the house. They couldn’t afford to be selfish when there was someone more in need of affection than either he or Walt.

 

Lying on his side, Walt pulled J.J. to him, against his chest in a beautiful fatherly moment that had Johnny in awe. He was not going to fight the issue, but he couldn’t help feel left out now, and a little awkward. He sat up but made no effort to get out of the bed. He couldn’t help but smile.

 

“John…”

 

It took several seconds for Johnny to respond to Walt’s call, and when he did he was surprised: Walt was holding J.J. but with an arm reaching out and pulling him towards them. Johnny accepted with a warm smile, nestling in behind J.J. and reaching around to get his arms around Walt’s back the same way Walt had with him so they could all sleep together, providing both warmth and comfort to each other; the vital force they needed.

 

_This is what I’ve wanted all along._

 

Family.

 

Johnny was ridiculously happy. All through the night and the next day he was smiling, locked in the loving embrace of his family and listening to the soft breathing in rhythm.

 

Walt was his, and so was J.J.

 

They were both his, and he was theirs.

 

Johnny was the last to fall asleep, cuddled against his son’s back and with his chin resting on the top of his head. Walt was in the same position, giving Johnny the opportunity to stare at him by the moonlight until he too fell asleep.

 

This was the vision he was trying to avoid? It astounded him to think that through fear, he could have missed this. He lied to Walt. He had had visions, and they had just come true.

 

The grief would never stop, and that was always going to be a challenge, but the suffering did not have to leave a lasting scar.


End file.
